


JAOA: History

by BlackRose (darthneko)



Series: JAOA [23]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Teacher-Student Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2001-12-01
Updated: 2001-12-01
Packaged: 2017-10-25 21:30:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,300
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/274990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darthneko/pseuds/BlackRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes it's the little things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	JAOA: History

**JAOA: History  
Year of the Republic 25,002**

* * *

Life had a habit of falling into routines. Routines were stable, they were predictable and comfortable. Sometimes the routines changed, shifting, but on a day to day basis for most living creatures there always seemed to be some sort of routine.

Han's routine, for as long as he could remember, had been fairly simple. Wake up. Wash. Dress. Quickly eat. Sit in varying states of boredom in a class, listening to lessons. Repeat previous as necessary until mid-day meal, then repeat again most of the afternoon. Evening meal, studying, bed, sleep. The same cycle, six days out of every seven, had occupied every year of his life since he had left the creche, as well as the life of every other Initiate in the Temple.

Becoming a Padawan had changed all of that.

But some parts of the routine were mostly intact and it brought a bit of sanity to each morning. Wake up, wash, dress, eat. And if the routine now included a required daily period of glaring at his close cropped hair in the mirror as he tried to make it do anything but stick out, or the swearing under his breath as he tried to break in brand new boots, or getting up early enough that he could, please merciful Force, get to the food prep before his Master could and make their morning meal himself - well, if all of that was still new enough to be a novelty, at least it had the base of the routine he had always done and that was comfort enough.

And sometimes, as he was measuring out an amount of tea leaf that was positively obscene and yet was becoming habit, he found himself equally astonished at how little time had passed... and how quickly. Fourteen days. Two weeks. It still didn't seem quite real, and yet he hardly even looked any longer as he reached automatically for spices on the shelf that were exactly where he knew they would be. He had, all without thinking, created a new routine from the remnants of the old and adapted to it with breathtaking speed.

He was dusting sweetener into the hot cereal that he fancied he was finally getting down to a science - neither soaked, dry, or burnt - when his thoughts backtracked to look at the calendar date again. Two weeks. Two...

"Oh." He said it aloud without meaning to and the hand holding the sweetener slipped, dumping the entire spoonfull in when he had only meant to add it sparingly. Han glared at it as though it were to blame. "Sith!"

"Language," Anakin warned, the word punctuated with a jaw cracking yawn. The older man was wrapped in a robe, his bare feet noiseless on the floor tiles, and Han nearly jumped with a stifled yelp as Anakin reached past him to get at the pot of tea.

His Master had his own routines and priorities and it wasn't until half a cup of bitterly strong tea had been poured and gulped back in a scalding swallow that Anakin opened sleep hazy eyes and focused on his Padawan. "Sorry, Han. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," Han replied automatically. He thumped the container of sweetener down on the counter, poking irritably at the bubbling cereal with the spoon. "I just added too much."

Anakin's hand reached out, plucking the spoon away from him and scooping up a bite that the older man ate with complete disregard for how hot it was. "It's fine."

Sighing, Han leaned up to snag two bowls down from the shelf. "No offense, Master, but you can't taste anything in the morning."

Anakin shrugged, pouring a second cup of tea. "It's cooked, it's hot... it tastes fine."

Han, priding himself on knowing when a bet was hopeless, kept his opinion to himself and spooned up the bowls of cereal, carrying them to the small dining table.

It was only as he sat down that the thought occured to him once more - two weeks. When he had woken up that morning, he had officially entered into his thirteenth year.

And against all odds and everything he had ever expected through the long years it had taken to get there, he was thirteen... and still in the Temple. Sith. The unreality of it struck him all over again.

Across the table Anakin was starting on his third cup of tea as he set the pot down on the table. Han poured a half cup for himself, sipping at it carefully with a grimace before tasting the cereal, which occasioned another wince at the overly sweet taste. He swallowed it anyways, taking another sip of stringently harsh tea to wash it down. Anakin was eating with a complete disregard for what any of it tasted liked, automatic motions quickly and neatly disposing of whatever was put in front of him without much active participation from his half asleep mind.

"Master..." Han started, then broke off, biting down on his tongue.

"Hmm?" Anakin polished off another bite, swallowing, before focusing more fully on his apprentice. "What, Han?"

"Nothing," Han said hastily. Ducking his head was no longer a good cover for the complexion of his cheeks - the short spikes of his hair barely covered his scalp, much less anything else. Anakin, however, didn't seem to notice and Han breathed a sigh of relief, attacking his own bowl of cereal with determination.

He had finished most of it before the traitorous impulse came again, the words making their way to his tongue before he could put a proper halt to them. "Master... what are we doing today?"

Anakin has already pushed his own bowl away and was nursing a last cup of tea dredged from the bottom of the pot that was so dark it was nearly black. He leaned back in his chair, robe pulled around him, frowning slightly. "The hyperspatial geometry..."

"I finished that yesterday," Han reminded him around a last mouthful of cereal.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," Anakin chided automatically. "Alright... what about history?" Han groaned and Anakin shook his head. "I'll take that as a no. Han, you can't just focus on the subjects you enjoy. Get the history done today. And the Huttese - no, it's not enough you can swear in it, if we ever have to go to the Outer Rim I want you fluent in it. And even your swearing isn't that good; you should always understand what you're saying. Do both of those - the whole lessons, no procrastinating, and I'll expect you for kata work this afternoon. I have reports to write this morning."

So much for the wonder of his thirteenth birthday - lessons and more lessons, just like every other birthday had been. Han bit his tongue harder for having had the stupidity to ask; if he hadn't then he probably could at least have picked his own subjects, which would have included anything more exciting then history. He really didn't know what he had expected - it was a day that marked another passing year, nothing else, and there was no reason to mark it off as special now that he was already a Padawan.

He quietly gathered up the dishes and took them back to wash, as his habit had become. Anakin brought the cups and tea pot, sliding easily along side Han to rinse them before slotting them into the cleaner.

If anyone had asked him later Han might have claimed that the Sith made him do it. It rather felt like it - either that, or rank stupidity. "Master," he asked as he cleaned the small counter, "where were you when you were thirteen?"

The words blurted themselves out of his mouth in a rush. Anakin blinked, turning to look at him in puzzlement and Han flushed, trying hastily to salvage something from the ill thought question. "I mean... um... what were you doing? That's around the age most Initiates get taken as Padawans, but you'd already been with General Kenobi for years, hadn't you?"

"Oh." Anakin blinked again, then partially shrugged. "Yes. I hadn't really thought of it like that. We were..." He paused, eyes narrowing in thought. "We were... Force. We must have been on mission somewhere. I really don't know, they all blur together. Obi-Wan might remember."

"Oh," Han echoed. "You'd already gone on missions?"

"Hard not to," Anakin replied with a wry grin. "They weren't going to do without Obi-Wan, whether he had me tagging along at his heels or not." He slanted Han an almost startled look. "Is that what you're wondering? When we'll get a mission?"

Han flushed again and Anakin chuckled softly. "Don't worry about it," he advised. "That will come soon enough, and when it does you're going to wonder why you wanted to go and you'll hardly ever remember what sleeping in your own bed is like. Just enjoy the rest leave while we have it."

Startled, Han glanced up at the older man. "Is that what this is?" he questioned.

Anakin smiled, reaching out to ruffle the spikes of Han's hair, something the boy automatically ducked. "Yes, Han," he said. "Reports and lessons are rest leave. So take advantage of it while you can."

Han finished cleaning while Anakin went back to his room to dress. The man's words had given him things to think over. Missions... to his way of thinking, to how all Initiates thoughts... well, they were serious, certainly, but they were _missions_. Real missions, at the side of your Master. They were what real Jedi did, not the endless monotony of lessons and more lessons as you went endlessly back and forth through the corridors of the Temple. Missions were different, and some part of him still childishly hoped for glamorous, or at least thrilling.

But Skywalker considered reports and lessons to be rest leave? That was... a _different_ way of looking at it.

The food prep cleaned, Han went back to his room and dragged out the lessons he had been putting off, glaring equally at both of them. But Huttese, at least, was slightly more interesting then history even if it did give him a sore throat. Sighing, he threw his lesson pads on the bed and himself after them, scooping up the first one and thumbing it on as he laid back and tried to get comfortable.

It was hours and conjugations and centuries and more names and dates then he was ever going to remember and was that the third or second declension? when a tap at his door jolted him up. "Come," he called automatically, and it was his Master's blonde head which leaned in through the opened door.

"Han," Anakin said, his glance taking in the scattered lesson pads. "How is it going?"

"I'm almost done," Han swore hastily.

Anakin nodded. "Good. Would you mind practicing solo today? Obi-Wan just called me, this isn't going to wait..."

"Oh," Han said, startled. "No... I mean, that's fine... if you're busy..."

The older man smiled, a flash of grin across his tanned face. "Fifth and sixth Forms, then," he instructed quickly. "Offense and defense - do them all the way through. I'll be back sometime this evening."

"Alright," Han agreed and Anakin was gone, ducking out as quickly as he had looked in, his bootsteps ringing through the outer room until the hiss of the door cut them off.

On his own for the rest of the day. It was still an odd feeling, but Han rather thought he could get used to it. He wondered what the General had wanted help with, but Anakin hadn't looked upset - probably the drier side of Council work, and Han was of the opinion that the less in the way of Council reports he had to look at the better.

He opted for making himself lunch in their quarters, finishing up his lessons at the dining table while he ate. He left them stacked neatly where Anakin would find them, then changed into his practice clothes and gathered up his own lightsaber to go find an empty training hall.

Silence, Han found, was more unnerving then the sharpest voiced Initiate instructor had ever been. He stumbled his way through the Forms in the small training hall, half expecting a voice, a correction, anything, and then finding himself twice as surprised when none came. He finally swore himself into a sweat, pushing himself through both Forms in their full variations twice, until his muscles ached from some of the stances that he wasn't as familiar with.

It was probably one of the least impressive training sessions he had done since Anakin had taken him on. He ran out of swear words to direct at himself while showering afterwards and started through the litany again, irritated and out of sorts with it all.

Padawan. He was a joke, was what he was. A fist slammed angrily against the wall of the shower resulted in a bruise across his knuckles that was going to hurt for days by the look of it. Thoroughly disgusted, Han returned to their quarters to find Anakin still absent. Angry with himself, he slammed back into his room, momentum carrying him twice around the space as he tried to swallow down the hard knots in his stomach.

Anakin returned almost two hours later to find his Padawan slumped in a chair in the outer room, legs flung across one arm as he grimly worked his way through a second set of history lessons. "I thought you were done with that," he said, surprised.

Han shrugged without looking up, jabbing his stylus towards the table where the former lessons were still stacked. "Over there."

Anakin leaned closer, catching at Han's wrist. He turned the boy's hand over, frowning as he surveyed Han's bruised knuckles. "What happened?"

"Slipped," Han said flatly. He twisted his hand free almost briskly.

Anakin frowned, leaning one elbow against the back of the chair. "I... didn't expect to find you still doing lessons," he admitted. "You had the rest of the evening free if you wanted it."

"Didn't feel like going out," Han replied shortly. "And I didn't know when you were coming back. Sir."

Blunt tipped fingers, warm to the touch, brushed against his forehead. Han started to duck away but Anakin caught him, strong hands holding Han's head steady between them. "What's wrong?" the older man asked quietly.

Han stiffened. "Nothing," he said, not daring to look up. He could feel the older man's gaze against the top of his head. "You're right, I've been putting these off... didn't feel like I got much done, so I started working on the rest of them. That's all."

Anakin's hands were warmer then they had a right to be, as though the other man's body temperature ran higher than Han's own, burning against his cheeks. "Padawan," he said firmly, putting emphasis on the word. "It's not the student's place to judge their own progress; let me worry about that. You've done fine in your lessons - I've had no cause for real complaint."

It was like a flipping a switch, the power drained out as the circuit went dead. Han could feel the coiled tension in his stomach fading away, leaving him tired and worn in its wake. "I just... felt like I should do more, Master," he admitted with a sigh. Anakin's hands shifted, ruffling gently through his hair before withdrawing.

"No one should work all the time," Anakin said and Han could hear the touch of a grin in the man's voice. "Especially," was it his imagination, or was there something almost like embarrassment in Anakin's tone? "not on their birthday."

Startled, Han started to twist around to be able to see the other man better, but Anakin's hands dropped into his frame of sight, something unwinding between them to dangle down before Han's face.

It was... Han wasn't quite sure. Something decorative, it almost looked like. Simple lattice lines, strung between parallels in a half arc... a necklace. That's what it was. A necklace, formed of long thin spines, unrelieved dark in color. Han blinked, caught without a single thing to say.

Anakin's voice was decidedly embarrassed. "It's not much," he said ruefully. "But it was all I could think of... I'm sorry, Han. I hadn't realized - Amidala says I'm hopeless and I guess she's right. I never remember this type of thing..."

"It's..." A gift, Han realized numbly. A birthday gift, in the dregs of the day when he had nearly forgotten the importance of the date himself after hours of routine. He had to search for his own voice for a moment, finding it rather belatedly, his cheeks flushed by the too warm feeling. "Thank you," he managed awkwardly. He took the ends of the thing from Anakin's grasp, examining it curiously. The spines of the lattice were made of something organic, bone or seed or something similar. It looked rather worn, almost cheap, but Han was no connoisseur of jewelery and wasn't prepared to make any judgement.

Anakin seemed to be waiting and after a moment Han realized he was probably supposed to try it on. He held it hesitantly to his throat, the feel of the arc of spines odd against his collarbone. "Could you...?"

The man took the ends from him again and Han tilted his head forward as Anakin deftly fastened the thing behind his neck. Definitely odd, he decided as he ran his fingers over the feel of the thing. And strange, nothing at all he would have expected, nothing that made any sense.

Anakin circled around the chair to get a better look at the final effect, frowning slightly. He reached out to straighten the necklace around Han's throat, fingers lingering just slightly over the lines of it. "Thank you," Han repeated, not sure what else, if anything, he was supposed to say.

A small smile broke across Anakin's face, warming the man's eyes like flashfire. "It was mine," he confessed, the hint of an embarrassed flush darkening his cheeks. "I brought it with me from Tatooine. I don't have much from then, but that..." he broke off, looking away. "My mother gave me that."

Stunned, Han raised his hands, feeling again the strangeness of the lines of the necklace against his collarbone. Anakin's own... Worn, then, yes, and more then a little old, and probably carefully repaired over the years, something kept not for its dubious worth but for sentimental value. Something...

He found his voice caught breathless in his throat, half choked in his lungs. "Thank you," he repeated again, finding he actually meant it. "I... thank you, Master."

Anakin met Han's gaze again, still flushed but the pleased smile shining in his eyes. "You're welcome, Padawan." He half shrugged. "It's really not much - japor spines, they're common as sand on Tattoine."

"It's... nice," Han stammered. "Really. I... thank you. I wasn't expecting anything..."

"It's not every day you turn thirteen," Anakin said with a grin. "And if you're not expecting anything... well, good. This will be a surprise, then." He held out a hand, offering Han a lift up out of the chair. "Come on. Master Obi-Wan is expecting us for evening meal."

"Master Obi-Wan?" Han echoed helplessly, letting Anakin haul him easily up. "But..."

"No buts," Anakin said firmly. "I've already been lectured - at length - about forgetting my own Padawan's birthday. So it's evening meal, and presents, and I think Master Qui-Gon said something about a game of sabbac if you're up for it afterwards. Come on."

"Oh," Han managed, too startled to think of anything else. He got the lesson pad thumbed off and tossed towards the chair before Anakin, grinning, pushed him towards the door.

[...to next stage]


End file.
